


Party Games

by LemonadeGarden



Series: We, So Much Older verse [2]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alcohol, Batfamily Feels, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff and Humor, absolutely no angst in this one folks sorry, stabbings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 22:12:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14435193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonadeGarden/pseuds/LemonadeGarden
Summary: “I can't believe you got into a bar fight at two in the morning. And now you're all in prison. The night before your wedding. What the fuck kind of a family am I marrying into?” Selina said.Bruce Wayne goes to a series of bachelor parties, each one worse than the last. Set in the same timeline asWe, So Much Older, but can be read as a standalone fic as well.





	Party Games

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by the lovely Officialloislane! Thanks, Kez <3  
> The 'space liquor' was provided by Audreycritter, who encouraged me way too much into being very self-indulgent about the whole tropes thing.

“I don't see what's wrong with a bachelor party,” Selina said. “I think it's sweet that they want to do it for you. Can I taste number three again?” She asked.  
The baker gave her another sample.

“Bruce, try this one,” Selina said, giving him the little plate with a piece of white cake on it. “It's vanilla and rose.”

“Rose is not a flavour,” Bruce said. “And I don't know why they'd think I'd want a bachelor party.”

“ _Try_ it,” Selina insisted.

Bruce tried it. “Too sweet,” He said.

Selina gave him an exasperated look.

“ _You're_ the one who wanted me to come along,” Bruce said.

“I didn't want you to be snarky about it,” Selina said.

Bruce looked around. The wedding bakery they were in was extremely high end, in that they had provided the two of them with what could only be described as a bucket-like receptacle, to spit out the cake after they had tasted.

Bruce didn't care how rich he was. He was _not_ going to spit out cake.

“What about the Maple butter one?” Selina said.

“It was fine,” Bruce said.

“Fine?”

“It was a cake, Selina. I don’t really have strong opinions about cakes.”

“Hmm,” Selina said. “I think I'll try the white chocolate,” she said, to the baker. To Bruce, she said, “Just go to the party, Bruce. It'll make them happy.”

“It'll make Lucius happy,” Bruce said. “I don't know about the others.”

“Your shareholders aren't out to get you, you know. They won't put anything in your drink or something. You're being a little paranoid. Try the chocolate,” She said.

Bruce tried the chocolate.

  
“No?” Selina said. “Yeah, I agree. I think we ought to revisit Maple butter.”

“I'm not being paranoid,” Bruce said. “I just don't think I'll enjoy it.”

“You don't know that. You need to let yourself have more fun, Bruce.”

“I don't know if going to dinner with ten boring, corporate men is my idea of fun.”

“Your idea of _fun_ is brooding over a city while it's raining. Besides, _you're_ a boring corporate man. I'm really forcing myself to go through with this wedding thing, at this point.”

He looked over at her, but she was smiling, so he supposed she was joking.

“Truly a great sacrifice,” he murmured quietly, so the baker couldn't hear. “Accepting a billionaire vigilante's proposal to have half of his things. I don't know where you get your philanthropic spirit from, Selina.”

She elbowed his side sharply, but she was choking on her piece of cake laughing, so he didn't think she was too mad.

“Okay, let's make a deal,” Selina said, wiping her mouth with a tissue. “If you go for this bachelor party, I'll pick the cake out on my own.”

Bruce thought about this for a moment. “And the table runners. And the flowers,” He said.

Selina smiled. “You drive a hard bargain. Fine. I'll choose the cake. And the flowers and the table runners. Go to the bachelor party,”

“Fine.” Bruce said.

The baker passed over another sample. Hazelnut Butterscotch.

Selina tried some of it. “This isn't bad either,” She said. “Try it.”

Bruce tried it.

“What do you think?”

“I think that I literally do not care, Selina.”

The baker looked scandalised.

 

The party went fine. It was uneventful, for the most part.

They booked a table at the Grand Imperial, and Bruce ordered a bottle of Cognac. “On me,” he smiled.

Jack Resnick, the head of Marketing, talked about his new car too much, and Brian Giometti, his COO, was so inoffensive and mild-mannered that he sometimes forgot he was there. The rest of them were nice enough, if a little awkward. The whole thing was a little awkward.

Lucius was the only saving grace. “I'm glad you're getting married, Wayne,” He said, drinking the cognac from a highball glass. “It's good you're finally settling down.”

Bruce snorted. “Before this I had five children and a large house. I was settled.”  
“You know what I mean,” Lucius said. He was smiling.

Bruce did.

 

“How'd it go?” Selina asked when he got back. She was sitting on a sofa in the living room, looking at a catalogue for wedding dresses.

“It was fine,” Bruce said. He leaned over her shoulder to look at the dresses. “These look expensive,” He said.

She shut the book with a snap. “I've got it under control,” She said, lightly.

“Okay,” Bruce said, frowning. Strange.

“Okay. How was the food?”

“Fine.”

“Fine. All you ever say is fine, you know? What does that mean? Like, is it _good_ fine, or _bad_ fine, or _I-don't-really-care_ fine? It's impossible to tell with–”

“Selina,” Bruce said. “It was nice. The food was good. Okay?”

She huffed. “Okay.” she opened the catalogue again. He had the distinct feeling that he had pissed her off.

He sat on the sofa across hers. “How was the rest of the cake tasting?”

Selina didn't look up from the catalogue. “It was,” she paused to flip a page. “ _Fine_.”  
Bruce sighed.

 

*

 

The two missiles headed for Earth from an intergalactic war-alliance were diverted by Superman and Green Lantern, and the day, as usual, was saved.

The streets flooded with citizens celebrating and dancing and crying. Statues were being erected in the honour of Superman. Congressmen gave emotional speeches about how grateful they were that superheroes existed to protect us, and to kindly remember that these kind of miracles only took place when aforementioned congressmen were in office, and to please remember to vote for them next term. Children and families gathered around the TV to watch satellite footage of the missiles being diverted. Men looked up at the sky and re-thought their ideas about the world and Gods. The world stood as one, singing joyous ululations of happiness in a single global harmony.

Meanwhile, on the Watchtower, everyone was slightly bored.

Barry yawned. “Can we go home already?”

“Not until the debrief,” Bruce growled. He wasn't in costume, but he was every bit as intimidating either ways. Barry shut up.

“When's the debrief?” Oliver asked. He pointed towards Earth from the large observation window built into the side of the room. “Cause they're all out there singing prayers about us. I mean, I'm no Superman, but I feel like now is an ideal time to go shoot my shot with Gisele Bündchen.”

Dinah smacked him with her debrief folder. “Gisele Bündchen is married. And so are you.”

Oliver laughed. “I was kidding, Di.” He said. “So where are Clark and Hal, anyway? All that celebrating downstairs is for them, not us.”

“New Genesis,” Diana said. She was looking at some screens. “Negotiating a temporary peace treaty with the war-alliance of Bakrath. The Bakrathians claim we have some kind of crystals that belong to them. They're saying we stole them, even though we repeatedly denied their claims. And their crown prince is missing too, apparently. The New Genesians are helping us with our case.”

“That's pretty cool of them.” Shazam said. He was the only one who hadn't gotten out of costume. He was a little weird like that. Still, he was a nice enough guy, so no one bothered him about it. For some reason, he was drinking grape soda. “Uh, Mr. Batman?” he said.

Bruce looked up from his debrief folder, where he was making notes in the column. “What?” He said.

“You remember that thing we talked about? How I need to uh, get home before nine?” Shazam said. “Cause of my uh, problem.”

“Oh,” Bruce said. “Yes. Of course. You may leave.”

Shazam looked relieved. “Thanks, Mr. Batman.” He said, and went out of the room, presumably towards the atomic teleporter.

Barry frowned. “What's his deal?” he asked.

Bruce waved a dismissive hand. “His family gets worried about him.”

“You mean like his wife and kids?”

“Sure,” Bruce said, going over to look at the screens next to Diana.

Oliver cleared his throat. “Hey, Bruce,” He said.

“What,” Bruce said.

“I was thinking, we've been friends for a long time, right? All of us?”

Bruce looked up. “Why.”

Oliver shrugged. “You’re getting married, man. Don't you want a bachelor party or something?”

Bruce looked at him like he had grown a third arm or something. “We're in the midst of a global disaster and you want to talk about partying? What next, we'll all be taking part in a karaoke competition and braiding each other's hair?”

“We averted the global disaster. We're good now.” Oliver pointed out. “Look, I was thinking we could all go do something fun, like bowling–”

“I like bowling.” Barry offered.

“Or karaoke, actually. Your idea wasn't half bad, Bruce.” Oliver said, grinning. Bruce sighed.

“Yeah, nope.” Barry said. “Not with Dinah. Listening to me singing karaoke after listening to her is like trying to eat raw fish after eating caviar.”

It was Barry's turn to be hit on the head with the debrief folder. “Stop calling yourself a raw fish,” Dinah said.

Bruce looked at Diana for backup, but she looked like she was considering it too.

“I'm not due for any diplomatic missions anywhere for the next week,” She said. “I could make it.”

“No,” Bruce said. “I don't want a bachelor party.”

“Why not?” Barry said, frowning.

“I've already had one.”

“Really?” Barry said. He sounded oddly hurt. “ _Without_ us?”

“It was people from work.”

“People from work? Bruce, I've had meetings with people in your company. They're all boring as hell. Trust me, this bachelor party is going to be much better than whatever shit party you went to. I bet you guys just had dinner at the Marriott or something," Oliver said.

“The Grand Imperial, actually.”

“Case in point.” Oliver said, grinning. “Come on, those old farts can't throw a bachelor party for shit. I promise you, we'll take you out for the night of your life.”

 

They went bowling. And then they went to a karaoke resto–bar. And then they inadvertently saved the world.

It was only a little bit awful, and only because the karaoke part after bowling.

“I am _not_ singing.” Bruce said. “I can't.”

“Come on.” Oliver said, “We all suck anyway. Except for Dinah.” Dinah grinned.

“Don't make the poor man sing if he doesn't want to,” She said, and then went up on stage. Diana started to cheer.

Barry was eating peanuts at an alarming rate. “I'm kinda hungry for real food,” He said. “I'm ordering a cheeseburger. You guys want something?"

They all shook their heads. Barry shrugged and started to look around for a waiter to signal.

“Sucks that Clark and Hal couldn't come because of the whole negotiations thing, huh?” Oliver said. “I heard they have to spend a whole week there. The Bakrathians aren't letting up anytime soon. Apparently, these crystals that they lost come with perception filter properties. Illusions and all that. Super, _super_ valuable on Bakrath. Anyway, that's why Hal and Clark can't come. It's a very sensitive intergalactic situation right now.”

Bruce shrugged. “I wouldn't want to hear Hal sing anyway.”

Oliver laughed. “Hal’s singing is so bad it's good, man. You gotta see it someday.” On stage, Dinah was crooning some old 60’s jazz number beautifully. Olly whooped.

“That's my wife!” He yelled, his hands cupping his mouth. Diana laughed.

“How is Selina, Bruce?” she asked.

“She's good,” Bruce said. He was distracted, and kept looking towards the bar.

“Getting on well with the children? And Alfred?” Diana prodded.

“Yes,” Bruce said, faintly. “Very well.”

“What's wrong?” Diana asked.

“There's no bartender at the bar,” Bruce said, suddenly.

“So?” Oliver said. “Maybe he went to take a piss.”

But Bruce was getting up now. “Someone would cover for him.” He said.

“What's going on? Did I miss something?” Barry said, putting the menu down. “Why are we all standing up?”

“Bruce is losing his mind, is what's happening.” Oliver said. “Bruce, chill.”

“Barry, you've been looking for a waiter as well, right?” Bruce said.

Barry blinked. “Yeah, actually. For a while now. I can't see anyone, but I just assumed–”

“If there are no bartenders, and no waiters, how is the restaurant still running?” Bruce said.

The rest of them looked around. Sure enough, there was food on everyone's plate, and no one had seemed to notice the lack of staff. At the bar, everyone had a drink in hand.

“Really concentrate on their drinks and food. Look at everyone's plates.” Bruce said. “Look closely.”

“What?” Oliver was saying. “I don't– Holy _shit_.”

Because everyone's plate was empty. And no one had any actual drinks in their hands. They just kept taking sips out of empty glasses, and putting empty spoons in their mouths. And none of them had noticed. Not until Bruce pointed it out.

“Perception filter.” Bruce said. “The crystals are in here, somewhere.”

Barry looked down at his bowl of peanuts, outraged. “No wonder I was so hungry. The bowl’s empty. The peanuts were a lie. All of it was a lie,” He said, and sat back down with a huff. Food was important to Barry. He looked justifiably angry about it.

Bruce was walking towards the kitchen. The rest of them followed.

Dinah who'd just got off stage, met them halfway. “What's wrong?”

Oliver told her.

Dinah looked crestfallen. “But I paid almost fifty dollars for a glass of Sangria. This place is expensive as hell.”

“The chef, you think? The manager?” Diana said.

“I don't think so,” Bruce said.

They walked into the kitchen (it was locked, but they were the Justice League, and locked doors were not usually a problem).

Every single surface was covered in glowing, luminescent crystals. They were embedded in the walls, the floor, the counters, everywhere.

Sitting on the floor, tinkering around with a formation of crystals in a corner of the room, was the crown prince of Bakrath. He was wearing a chef's hat. At the sound of their footsteps, he looked up.

“ _Madzhunic vrfito,_ ” He said. In the weeks to come, Green Lantern would inform them that when translated to English from its original Bakrathian, the phrase roughly meant: “Oh, Fuck.”

 

“I mean, how weird is it that the crown prince of an intergalactic war-alliance just wanted to run away to Earth and become a chef? Kinda sad, when you think about it, right?” Barry said.

They were in the watchtower again. The crystals and the crown prince had been sent back to one of the host planets of the War alliance of Bakrath. Negotiations were going well, Superman and Green Lantern were due to return three days later, and it looked like intergalactic peace had been restored, all thanks to the Justice League.  
Cue congressional speeches, songs sung in their honour, statues erected, etcetera, etcetera.

Meanwhile, everyone in the Watchtower was slightly bored.

“Yes. Very sad.” Bruce said, absently. Which meant he wasn't listening at all. He was looking over some schematics on a screen.

“Hey,” Oliver said. “What were the chances that the restaurant we picked would have the crown prince guy, right? Of all the gin joints in the world,” He grinned.

“Yeah,” Dinah said. “The probability of that happening was probably almost zero.”

“If it even happened coincidentally, that is.” Diana said.

Everyone looked at Bruce.

Bruce looked up from the screen.

“What?” He said.

“You picked the bar. We just specified karaoke. Come to think of it, you might have snuck in the karaoke part too! You made it seem like it was my idea.” Oliver was saying, realization striking him slowly.

“I multi-tasked.” Bruce said simply. “The Bakrath war alliance is a galactic superpower with tech better than we could even imagine. They couldn't be wrong about the crystals being on Earth if they tracked it down. So I did some digging.”

“Bruce, you used your bachelor party to crack a case.” Dinah says. “That's not something normal people do.”

“Then it's a good thing we're not normal people.” Bruce said. A pause. “I thought it was fun.”

“Fun?” Barry said incredulously. “I ate air from a bowl for forty-five minutes and then we had to go detain an alien!”

“We went bowling,” Bruce said.

“Okay, fine, bowling was fun,” Barry acquiesced. “But only because I won.”

“Look, the point is, Bruce saved the world. And maybe he was a bit of an asshole about it, but that's just Bruce.” Diana said, smiling. “At any rate, we'll make him buy us all a round at a bar with real drinks.”

“Let's go to _Verve_ ,” Barry says. “I hear it's got a mean–”

“I'm taking you all to the manor and you will eat Alfred's sandwiches and drink one glass of wine and leave immediately.”

“Uh,” Oliver says hesitantly. “Don't you have a– how to put this politely– a _devil_ baby?”

“Damian?” Bruce said. “He mostly only tries to fight you if you talk to him. Avoid eye contact and keep your hands to yourself. Don't try to ruffle his hair. And absolutely do not call him _baby_.”

“Great.” Oliver muttered. “This is gonna be just great.”

 

*

 

It was dawn. Bruce hadn't got out of bed yet, but he was awake when the alarm rang.

He leaned across the bed, over her, and switched it off.

“Mm,” Selina groaned, burrowing deeper into the sheets. “Get off.”

“Sorry,” he whispered, rubbing at his eyes. “Had to get the alarm,” He said.

“Mmm,” Selina said again, her eyes shut. She was sleeping on her stomach, all stretched out on the sheets. Her bare back swathed in the sunlight coming in from the French windows.

He propped himself up on his elbows, staring. “You have freckles. On your back,” He said.

Selina mumbled something sleepily into the pillow. Something that sounded a little bit like, “So?”

“So I've known you for sixteen years. I've never noticed any freckles.”

Selina turned to him, grinning a lazy smile. “I keep telling everyone you never pay enough attention to me. Do they listen? No.”

“Right.” Bruce said dryly. Then he bent his head.

“Stop it,” Selina said, laughing a little.

“Stop what?” Bruce said. He was kissing the freckles on her back.

“I'm too asleep for this, Bruce.” Selina mumbled into the pillows.

“Mm.” Bruce said, his mouth moving upwards, towards the back of her neck. “You just have to lie still.”

“And think of England?” Selina said tartly.

Bruce snorted. “If you want to.”

Selina shifted a little. “Listen. Clark came by yesterday. At breakfast.”

Bruce sighed, temporarily ceasing his attempts at seduction. He knew where this was going. Clark had texted him several times.

“Can we not talk about Clark right now?”

Selina twisted around to look at his face. “He feels bad, Bruce. He couldn't make it to your party.  
Is it so bad to go out to a pub with him and have a few drinks? He's your best friend.”

Bruce shifted back over to his side of the bed, grumbling. “I draw the line at three bachelor parties. I didn't even want one.”

“It won't be a party,” Selina said. “Just a night out with a friend. I just felt bad for him, Bruce. He was moping around in the kitchen when I walked in. He was wearing those bright red trunks and all. Made me drop my waffle.”

“I'm going to take back his key.” Bruce said.

Selina snorted. “Right.” She said. She turned to him. “You act like you're such a tough guy, but I know your secret, Wayne.”

“Really?” Bruce said. Selina was smiling, the soft sunlight in her eyes, making her squint a little.  
He reached over and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “And what would that be?”

“You think you're both gonna get drunk and say sappy shit to each other about friendship and loyalty and all that.”  
“I know Clark will.” Bruce said. “And he won't have to get drunk to do it.”  
Selina rolled her eyes. “Just go. Stop being a grumpy old man about it.”

“I am a grumpy old man.”

“You're not that old.” She said.

“But I am grumpy.” He said.

“Maybe a little,” Selina allowed, scooting over to his side of the bed and putting her head on his shoulder. “But you're nice. This would be a nice thing to do for your friend.”

“I am not nice,” he said, even as he, with all the goodness in his heart, allowed her to steal his blanket.

Selina pressed her face against the side of his neck. He put an arm around her waist. They were cuddling in the morning. Like a married couple did. He was getting married.

“You're the nicest, Bruce.” She said, except the way she said it made it sound like an insult. “Sixteen years, and I've cracked the code. You're almost too nice. But you won't admit it to anyone.”

“Stop stealing my pillow.” Bruce said in reply.

“Suck it up. In a month, half this bed is going to be mine. Which means this pillow will also belong to me.”

“Your pillow will belong to you. You know, the one all the way over on the other side of the bed?”  
Selina smiled again, so tenderly and un-Selina-like that Bruce had to look away before he did something stupid. Like blush.

“Look at us, Bruce. We're fighting about the goddamn pillows.” She said.

Old, married couple, he thought. “So we are.” Bruce said.

She burrowed her face into the crook of Bruce's neck again. “Go have a goddamned drink with your friend, Bat.” She said.

“Fine.” Bruce said. “But only the one drink.”

Outside, the sun rose by a few more degrees. He could hear the sprinklers switching on in the East lawns, one by one. Selina opened her eyes again.

“Hey, if you go to Verve bring me back some of their pulled pork sliders.”  
Bruce shot her a look.  
“What?” Selina said innocently. “A girl can't make the best of a situation?”

“Shut up, Freckles.” Bruce said, and Selina started to laugh.

 

They did not go to Verve. Instead, they went to Clark's house.

And they got very, very drunk.

Bruce looked dubiously at the small, crystalline bottle. It was full of some kind of dark, viscous looking liquid.

“If I had a week I couldn't finish listing the ways in which this is a bad idea.” He said.

“Come on,” Clark said, smiling good naturedly. “The intergalactic delegation told me it was safe, and they gave it to me as a parting gift, in light of the successful negotiations. It was all in good faith. There's no way this could be harmful. Live a little, Bruce.”

“That's easy for an indestructible super-alien to say.” Bruce said, flatly.

Clark poured out a finger each of the thick looking liquid into two tall glasses. “We’ll pace ourselves. And we'll dilute it with some tonic water.”

“This is a terrible idea.” Bruce said, rubbing at his temples.

“No it's not. Look, Terran alcohol doesn't really work on me anyway, and you've got too high of a tolerance for a shot of vodka to do anything to you. So we're sticking with what the New Genesians gave us,” he said, pouring in the tonic water into both glasses.

“They're gods, Clark,” Bruce said. “Gods. We're going to drink this and die.”

“I got Hal to scan this with his ring, and he said that there was only a six percent chance of that happening.” Clark said, his eyes all bright and shining with the damned optimistic spirit that Bruce wanted to throttle out of him.

“Clark.”

“Bruce. Lois has been gone all week on some assignment in Sri Lanka, and the news cycle here's been slow, so I've been sitting in this house all the while, feeling down. Let's just drink and talk a little, okay? Like we did, back in the days. How come we don't hang out as much anymore?”

“Because I have five children and a fiancée and a company to run. And you have to save lives in faraway parts of the world and meet newspaper deadlines.”

Clark sighed. “I guess so. Time just flies, doesn't it?” Clark brightened up. “You remember when we were in our mid-twenties? And we'd meet every Saturday at my place to discuss plans and stratagems and talk about the foundation of the Justice League, but we'd really just play  
Battleship and eat Thai takeout and talk about girls?”

“You talked about girls,” Bruce said. “Namely Lois. All you did was talk about Lois, and how she was the greatest woman to exist since Mother Teresa.”

Clark blushes. “Shut up. I never caught you complaining. In fact, I distinctly remember you giving me romance tips.”

“That was because I just wanted you to stop talking. Imagine the sense of disillusionment you feel when you manage to snag a weekly meeting with the most powerful being on the planet Earth, and all he wants to do is talk about some girl in his office that he's crushing on.”

Clark grinned. “You loved it. Don't deny it. We gossiped like schoolgirls and you kept coming back every Saturday. And I'm pretty sure if I dig around in storage a little, I can find our old battleship score counter. If I remember correctly,” Clark said, shooting him a smug look, “I was in the lead.”

“That was because you kept cheating with your X-ray vision.”

Clark shook his head. “I would never. You just sucked at battleship, Bruce. Admit it, c’mon.”

“I did not.” Bruce said, rather more defensively than he had to.

“So let's play and find out. I'm sure I still have the old set lying around somewhere, and we can have a few drinks and talk about girls again.” Clark grinned.

Outside, the sun was beginning to set, a stunning pinkish-orange spectacle that danced and flitted joyously over the Metropolis skies. It looked annoyingly beautiful.

“Fine.” Bruce said, feeling extremely resigned. “Fine. We can play that damned game and I'll have a glass of the death liquid. Will that make you happy?”

Clark grinned, sliding over the glass to Bruce. Bruce took it reluctantly.

“Drink up.” Clark said.

 

“Listen.” Bruce said from the backseat of the car. “Listen listen listen.”

The traffic on the highway was the worst at the intersection nearest to Clark's apartment. They were stuck in gridlock, and it looked like they'd be standing there for at least another ten minutes. He sighed.

“I'm listening.” Clark said weakly. He really hoped Bruce didn't throw up in the backseat. Lois was gonna be so mad. This had been, Clark thought belatedly, a terrible idea.

“Are you listening?” Bruce said again. He sounded sleepy. Good. Maybe he'd just pass out until they got to the manor.

“I'm listening.” Clark said again. The car in front of him, in some strange biblical miracle, started to move. Clark started up the car again.

“You're my best friend,” Bruce was saying, and then he laughed. “My bestest friend.” He laughed some more. There was a sudden, loud bang.

Startled, Clark turned around.

“Ow.” Bruce said, looking up. He was frowning. “I hit my head.”

Clark started at him in disbelief. Wasn't he the Dark Knight? Every day he battled villains and dangerous enemies with stunning ease and agility. Had the roof of Clark's 2016 Toyota Prius really got the best of him?

“But the car's moving at five miles an hour.” Clark managed to say.

Bruce looked at him sullenly. “So?”

Another knot of traffic on the highway forced Clark to stop driving. He cursed silently, waiting for the car in front of him to start moving again.

“How come– how come it didn't work on you?” Bruce slurred. That was also good. At least he was in his senses enough to be able to ask questions.

“It did.” Clark said. “And then it wore off, in about half an hour.” He frowned. “I suppose I miscalculated the effect it would have on a human.”

A silence from the back of the car.

Clark looked back in alarm again, all the worst-case scenarios rushing to his head. What if it had been too much for Bruce, and he had to go to a hospital and get his stomach pumped? How would he be able to explain that to Alfred? Or to the kids. Or Selina. Or Lois, for that matter. Shit, Lois was going to be so mad at him. So, so ma–

He heard humming. Quiet humming.

Slowly, he turned around to look.

Bruce was looking at the roof of the car abstractedly. He was humming what sounded distinctly like the opening bars of Stayin’ Alive.

“Bruce,” Clark said weakly.

“Yeah?”

“You, uh, holding up okay?”

“Me? 'M just peachy keen.” Bruce said. He frowned.

“What's wrong?” Clark said.

“My phone,” Bruce mumbled. “Where's my phone? I need to make some calls.”

“Uh,” Clark said, looking around. “I don't know if that's the uh, the best idea right now, Bruce.”

“Why not?” Bruce said, sounding genuinely confused.

Clark cleared his throat uncomfortably. “'cause you know, you might call someone and say something stupid.”

Bruce bristled at the accusation. “'m not stupid.” He slurred.  
.  
“No, of course you're not, but, uh, under these current circumstances, let's just say your mental state has been– well. Compromised.”

Bruce looked at him with incredulous indignation. “Who're you calling compromised?” He said, lunging for his phone in the front passenger seat.  
“Bruce!” Clark said, intercepting him. Bruce, who was clearly not at his physical peak at the moment, and certainly not when it came to hand-eye coordination, accidentally elbowed Clark in the face.

Clark drew back abruptly, blinking.

“Ha,” Bruce crowed, snatching up the phone.

If Clark could feel pain by being merely elbowed, that would have made him pretty damn annoyed.

But he wasn't. Annoyed. Why would he be? Bruce was his best friend. And he'd got him drunk in the first place. So this was all his fault anyway.

“Does it sting, Clark?” Bruce said, still drunkenly brandishing his phone in front of him, a smug look on his face.

He was not annoyed, Clark reminded himself. Not annoyed. This was his fault.  
Bruce had rolled down the window in the backseat. Clark turned back around in alarm.

“What are you–”

“I beat Superman in a fight!” Bruce yelled out to the standing traffic. An elderly couple in a sedan looked curiously over at him. “Take that, you happy Metropolis-dwelling sunshine fucks!”

“Bruce!” Clark hissed, pulling Bruce back by the back of his shirt. “Someone could see you.”

“Good.” Bruce said. He sounded defiant.

Clark sighed, and drove on.

Bruce was still snickering when Clark finally got out of the traffic congested intersection. Not annoyed. He was not annoyed.

 

“Hello?”

“'s me.”

“Bruce.”

A pause.

“No, I'm not drunk.” Bruce said, his excessive outrage giving away the lie.

The voice on the other end of the phone said something else.

“In a car. Clark's taking me home.” Bruce said, sounding sullen again. “I wanted to play more battleship. I kept losing.”

The voice on the other end said something that made Bruce frown.

“Shut your mouth.” He said. “Don't talk to your father that way. I win all the time. I'm a winner. A big-time winner.”  
Another pause.

“I don't know. Some sorta space liquor. Don't drink or do drugs, by the way. That's bad. Drugs are bad. Okay? And stay in school.”

Clark didn't like eavesdropping on other people's phone calls, but the (amused) voice on the other end said something suspiciously like “Okay, dad.”

Bruce smiled. “Good kid.” He lowered his voice, whispering conspiratorially. “You're my favourite.”

A pause.

“No I don't say that to all of you.” Bruce said, narrowing his eyes.

Clark grinned.

Bruce scratched the back of his head. “I was thinking, you could come home and we could watch Ender's game. It's a movie now. It's got Han Solo in it. And that kid from that other movie.”

A reply. Bruce waved his hand impatiently. “Oh, you know. The sad one.”

“Yeah.”

Bruce brightened again, smiling wide. “I love you too, baby.”

“I'm not that drunk.”

The voice on the other end said something dry and sardonic.

“That's a lie.”

A pause.

“No I'm not giving the phone to Clark.” Bruce said, sounding sullen. This conversation was apparently not going the way he had wanted it to.

A longer pause.

Bruce huffed. “Fine.” He said.

A tap on Clark's shoulder. Clark turned. Bruce was still lying horizontally across the backseat, but his hand was now outstretched toward Clark, his phone in his hand.

“My son wants to talk to you.” Bruce said, crossly. “Doesn't want to talk to me. No one wants to talk to me.” He said, giving him the phone, and then turning around so his back was to Clark.

“That's not true, Bruce.” Clark said, soothingly.

Bruce made a very rude hand gesture in reply.

“Fine,” Clark said. “Be that way.” He put the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” He said.

On the other end, Jason was laughing almost hysterically.

“What,” he said, “the hell did you do to him?”

 

*

 

The night was dark and quiet, but then again, it usually always was.

“We found those flowers at the site again. The ones that knocked out all our guys last time. We quarantined the area, but there's only so much we can do.”

Batman stood atop the gargoyle on the GCPD building. It was pouring rain. He frowned. Alfred would be worried. He didn't want it to rain this close to the wedding. The reception was supposed to be outdoors. There was a sudden flash of lightning behind him, followed by the belated rumble of thunder.

Bruce shook himself out of his train of thought.

Gordon was saying something to him.

“Could you– could you get down from there, please? I'm tired of having to crane my neck to look at you.”

Batman vaulted off the gargoyle and onto the roof of the building.  
“Ivy.” He said.

Gordon nodded. “We think so. Think she's holed up at the old greenhouse again?”

Batman shook his head. “Doubtful. She knows that the cops found it out a while back.” Gordon rubbed at his moustache thoughtfully. The rain was soaking through his coat; he'd forgotten to carry an umbrella, as usual. “The club by the docks, then. Miss Quinn's hang-out spot.”

Batman nodded. “It's possible. I'll look into it.”

“Right.” Gordon said. “Thanks.”

Batman nodded again, a curt gesture. And then he just stood around for a while, not leaving.

Gordon raised an eyebrow. This was unusual. “Is there. . . anything else?”

Batman shook his head. “No, nothing. It's just.” A pause. The flat stare of the lenses on his cowl was blank as usual. And yet there was something he looked like he wanted to say. Gordon pushed his glasses up his nose. Batman hesitating. More unusual still.

“This rain.” Batman said suddenly. “Think it'll be gone by the end of the month?” Gordon stared. Batman was making small talk about the weather.

“The end of the month’s in two weeks. There's plenty of time.” He said, slowly.  
“Right.” Batman nodded, grim.

He still hadn't left.

“Right.” Gordon said, uncertainly. “So this is the part where I start talking about something and you leave mid-sentence, right?”

“Hrn.” Batman growled, and took one or two backward steps and dove off the roof.

Gordon stared after him, shaking his head. Batman asking about the rain. Didn't he have about a million gadgets that answered those kinds of questions?  
He pushed his glasses up his nose again, and left the terrace, walking slowly down the stairwell of the GCPD building.

He needed a long, paid vacation.

 

“Red Robin,” Bruce said, into his communicator. “Check all CCTV footage at the Iceberg  
Lounge in the last two days, please.”

“Sure thing, B.” Came the reply, only a little bit static-y.

A short silence while Bruce heard the clack–clacking of computer keys in his ear. He was grappling towards the east docks. The Seawall, and the seedy line of pubs and clubs all along its boundary line. Certainly not what his father had had in mind when he had built the place.

“So uh, I've been googling some things, B.” Tim said, a tinny voice in his ear. He sounded like he was grinning.

“Have you, now.” Bruce said, dryly.

“Oh yeah,” Tim said, the joy in his voice now much more apparent. “You know that video of you singing Stayin' Alive while leaning out of Clark's car, all along the length of the route 9?” Tim said. He mentioned it casually, like it was a small matter. Like it hadn't been the primary source of agony in Bruce's life for the last two weeks.

 

He remembered waking up the day after that fateful night.

He was in his own bed. He had a stinging headache. His mouth felt dry, his skin stretched too tight around his eyes.

He blinked a few times. Someone was sitting next to him.

“There's water. And aspirin, if you want any. Although I'm not sure it works on you anymore.”

He rubbed at his eyes.

“Where's Clark,” he managed to say. “I'm going to murder him with my bare hands.”

Selina just smiled. “He's not here,” she said. “But you can't murder anyone in your state anyway.  
So it's probably for the best.”  
She handed him the glass of water, which he took. He sat up, and immediately his head protested at the movement.

He drank the water, wincing. His throat hurt, for some reason. It seemed quite possible that parts of his esophagus had been dissolved away by last night's liquor. He drank some more water.

“I'm going to kill him.” He said calmly.

“You can't kill him. He's at work.” Selina said, handing him his phone. “He wanted you to call him as soon as you woke up.”

Bruce looked down at the phone. There were twenty odd texts from Oliver, and most of them went something like: 'U TOLD US U COULDNT SING JERK ANYWAY LOVED THE VID XD’.  
Whatever that meant.

“I can't remember anything after calling Jason.” He said.

Selina raised an eyebrow. “Really?” She said. “Not even the part where you threw up in the topiary in the lawn?”

Bruce put his glass of water down. “I threw up in the bushes.” He said, rather hollowly.

Selina smiled again, and patted his shoulder sympathetically. “No, you didn't. I just made that up. You threw up in the bathroom. Don't worry about it.”

“Ah.” said Bruce. “At least there's that.”

Selina nodded, her face a skillful mask of grave somberness. “At least there's that.”

“You're laughing at me.” Bruce said.

Selina turned a little so that she was facing Bruce properly now, so Bruce could see her face better. “I'm not laughing. Do you see me laughing?”

“Yes.”

“Alright,” Selina acquiesced. “So maybe I'm laughing a little bit. But can you blame me, Bat?  
Yesterday night I saw you trip over your own dog.”

“Hnn.” Bruce said. “Titus?”

Selina nodded. She was still laughing, he noted with annoyance. “He was so surprised, poor thing.”

“Okay.” Bruce said, scrubbing at his face. He got off of the bed slowly, and walked over to the bathroom. Selina followed after him.

At the sink, he washed his face. “Okay.” He said again. “The situation is under control.”  
“Right.” Selina said, leaning against the counter. She sat up on it. She was still laughing. Hard. He was beginning to think that she was really starting to lose it. “Sure it is.”

He shot her a look. “Stop laughing.”

“I can’t help it,” Selina said, her shoulder shaking in mirth. “Oh my god, Bruce. This is the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

Bruce leaned over the sink, his elbows on the marble counter. He put his head in his hands. “You're going to tell me everything that happened.”

Selina grinned. “My pleasure.” she said.

 

So it had turned out that he had called Clark his bestest Justice friend. In front of everyone. And played a video game with Damian that had frustrated him so much that he'd thrown the controller out of a window and broken both. And he'd sang Stayin’ Alive to the traffic on the highway and someone had taken a video of it, and posted it onto YouTube (captioned: BRUCE WAYNE SINGS DRUNK FUNNY!??!!) and as of that morning, it had already received twenty thousand views. Tim had discovered it three hours ago and had been a mix of both gleeful and embarrassed ever since. Mostly gleeful, though.  
And Bruce had also thrown up in the bathroom. And tripped over Titus.

Oh, and he'd told everyone he loved them very much.

Bruce looked up from the sink. “What?”

Selina shrugged. She was trying not to smile. “Apparently, drunk you is a softie.”

A pause. Selina leaned over to him and whispered conspiratorially. “Actually, you might even be a softie sober. You're just better at hiding it.”

Bruce looked down at her. “Right.” He said.  
Selina grinned. “Look at you, Bat. You're so flustered you can't even argue.”

“I'm not flustered.”

“Are too. You said some pretty sweet things to me last night. Didn't know you had it in you.”

“I asked you to marry me. Of course, I had it in me.”

But Selina just daintily crossed one leg over another and continued on as if he'd said nothing. “You went to Tim's room and tried to talk to him but you kept spacing out. Then you told him to stay in school. And to not drink. A little sanctimonious, don't you think?”

Bruce didn't grace her with a reply. He stared at himself in the mirror. A slightly pale, scared looking man stared back. Tim was going to make fun of him until the end of time.

“And you told Damian he was a good boy. And you ruffled his hair.”

“No.” Bruce says, in thinly veiled alarm. Damian hated being called a child.

Selina smiled like the cat that ate the Canary. “Yes. He got over it, though, when he saw you throw the video game controller out of the window. Apparently, that more than made up for it.”

“So I broke some glass.” Bruce said. “Was Alfred angry?”

“Alfred was mostly mad at Clark,” Selina said. “except Clark apologized so many times Alfred got over it too. And he fed him some pie and made him go back home.”

Bruce stared at the water droplets trickling down the edge of the sink glumly. “Where's my piece of pie.”

“You'll get it as soon as you apologize to Alfred for telling him you don't actually like cucumber sandwiches.” Selina said.

Bruce put his head in his hands again. Selina leaned over and patted his shoulder consolingly. “It's not so bad, Bruce. At least everyone knows you have a nice singing voice now?”

 

“Bruce are you listening?” Tim said, over the comms. “I said, the Stayin' Alive video has one point eight million views on YouTube now. Not including the views from version that's going around on Facebook. I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“I know now.” Bruce muttered.

“Great.”

“Anything else, Red Robin?”  
“Nope.”  
A pause.  
“If it's any consolation, B, it's making your stock points go up. Maybe you should try auditioning for one of those singing reality shows. Your net worth could drastically increase.”

“Keep the comm lines clear, Red Robin. Or I'll turn it off.”

“Okay, okay.” Tim said, snickering. “Sorry. Oh, and I checked online. The Iceberg Lounge is closed tonight. Maintenance.”

“Maintenance means the–”

“Falcones are meeting with Penguin. Yeah, that's what I thought. Except Carmine's still in Italy. He won't be coming back 'til next month. I checked that too.”

Bruce landed on one of the squat buildings facing the Seawall.  
“An out of town guest, then.” He said.

“Nah, Penguin won't do that. No non-Gothamites allowed in the Iceberg, remember?”

“Hnn.” Bruce said. He looked at the innocuous looking building near the Seawall that housed the Iceberg lounge in its basement. “We'll see.”

He swung down onto the adjoining terrace, and then over to the next one. He broke a window in one of the abandoned buildings. There was a narrow hallway through which he had to pass, before he could go through the ventilation duct, and then the elevator shaft.

“Think Ivy might be there?” Tim asked over the comm.

“It's possible. Gordon’s team found traces of pheromone mix in the flowers in several sights in the East end. Yesterday she moved in on the docks. Might be re-grouping at the Iceberg. It's a good location, strategically speaking.”

He went down the elevator shaft, the cables holding strong under his grip.

“Don't fall,” Tim was whispering in his ear. “The company needs more viral videos out of you yet.”

Bruce muted the comm line.

He landed at the bottom of the shaft, quietly prising open the elevator doors.

There was only silence in the basement. He looked around. The club had a strange ambience to it. It was built to look like it was moulded out of ice itself, and as a result, everything was white.  
The chairs and tables were white. The floor was white. The walls were white.

Bruce was in all black. He looked around. Under the harsh LED lights that gave the impression of the blinding reflection of the sun on ice on the marble countertops, there appeared to be no shadows to blend into either.

Perhaps he had not thought this all the way through.

Still, it was completely empty. Not a person to be seen. Not even Penguin.

He looked around, walking slowly. There was no point in attempting to be stealthy, so he didn't. A set of double doors led to another room– most probably a hall that could double as a dance floor.

There was music and laughter coming from the other end.

Bruce cocked his head to a side. He took a batarang out of his belt and pushed open a door.

Two women looked at him in surprise. They looked like they'd been mid-dance party. There was loud, thumping music playing from the back somewhere. And then,

“Hey!” Harley Quinn squawked, putting her hands on her hips. “We're closed for maintenance!  
Dintcha see the sign outside?”

Bruce looked between the two of them. “I didn't come from the main entrance. I wouldn't know.”

Poison Ivy looked alarmed, her eyes flicking back and forth from Harley to him. Harley looked more at ease, although still outraged. This was of no surprise. He and Harley Quinn were old friends.

In that he had got her sent to Blackgate over five times by now.

The same thought must have been running through Harley's mind, because she leapt back abruptly, and poked Ivy's side. Rather hard.

“Ow!” Ivy hissed. “What?’

“Do that thing that you do where you hold men up all upside down and stuff with your vines and shit, Pam!” Harley stage whispered, looking at Bruce with wide eyes.

“You see any plants here?” Ivy whispered back furiously.

“Uhhh no? What am I, dumb or somethin’? It's a night club!”

“Exactly.” Pam whispered back. “I could summon some vines, but it might take a few minutes.  
Do something. Distract him.”

“I can hear you.” Bruce said, over the loud music.

They both ignored him.

“Distract him? He's Batman, Pammy. Nothing I ever do ain't gonna distract him. He's gonna get us and throw us in jail!”

Bruce moved a little closer to talk to them over the music, and Harley screamed and stuck a knife in his side.

Bruce stopped.

There was a silence.

“You stabbed me.” Bruce said, almost matter-of-factly.

Harley covered her mouth. “I– sorry Batman! I thought you was gonna hurt us and I freaked!”

Bruce looked at his side. A large stain of red was spreading across the suit. He pulled out a bandage from his utility belt, and counted to three, exhaled fast and pulled the knife out swiftly.

“Ewwww.” Said Harley. Ivy's eyes were wide.

Bruce glared at her, wrapping the bandage around his side. “I am in a considerable amount of pain right now. A little more commiseration, if you don't mind.”

“Sorry,” Harley said, weakly. “Take a seat or something, I dunno. What didja want to say?”

“If you could turn the music down a little, first.” Bruce said.

They both stared at him. Then, sighing, Harley went over to the speaker system and switched it off. Under her breath, he thought he heard her say, “Fuckin’ oldie.” “I also heard that.” Bruce said.

“What do you want?” Ivy said, her eyes narrowed and her voice dangerously silky. She was trying to control him. There were no vines or flowers in sight, but he couldn't account for the pheromones.

“I gave myself the antidote before I got here.” Bruce said.

Ivy's shoulder slumped, but only very minutely. Harley’s reaction was much more obvious.

“Oh shit, Pammy, we're all fucked now!” She said, all wide eyes and ponytails.

“Be quiet.” Ivy hissed. “He's injured and there's two of us.” In a louder voice, “There's no antidote for being smacked around the room by flora for half an hour. And I may not have my vines or my flowers, but there's some potted plants on the terrace. Potted Bamboo. Dracaena braunii. Penguin was going for some kind of exotic ambience, I believe.”

“Yup!” Harley said brightly. “He was tryna go for that Feng Shui look! 'xcept there were so many shootouts in the terrace because of unhappy clients that he hadta shut it down.”

“The plants are still there, though.” Ivy said, her voice low. Threatening. “I checked.”

Bruce shook his head. “I'm not here to arrest you.” He said. He looked down at his side. “I don't think I could even if I wanted to.”

All the silky smoothness leaked out of Ivy's voice. “No?” She said. She sounded almost surprised.

“I do have a few questions.” Bruce said. He looked around a little. There were some tables off to one corner of the large hall. A long bar on one end, with a large shelf stacked generously with liquor. “Shall we have a seat?”

Ivy blinked.

Harley narrowed her eyes, and wagged an accusatory finger at him. “Are you gonna tie us up and leave us here for the cops to pick up, mistah?”

“No.”

Harley shrugged. “Good enough for me.” She said, and skipped over to a table, pulled up a chair and sat down.

Ivy strode over to her hurriedly, and pulled her out of the chair. “This is how you've been arrested six times,” She hissed. “You're too trusting.”

“Hey!” Harley said. “Am not. I asked him if he was gonna trick us first, didn't I?”

Bruce sighed. “Fine, stand. I don't care. I just have some questions.”

“Like what, exactly?” Ivy said, still glaring over at him.

“You’ve been sending flowers to every prominent gang members’ house in the East end in the last two weeks. They're all hospitalised. And now Penguin?”

“He's knocked out in the janitor's closet in the baseme–” Ivy clapped a hand over Harley’s mouth.

“What the hell, Harley?” She yelled, incredulous.

“Mmmph!” Harley said.

Ivy took her hand off of her mouth.

“Sorry! Didn't mean to! 'S just Batman's scary face, yanno? Freaks me out n’ makes me babble.”

“Are the two of you deciding to move on to the gang scene in the East end?” Bruce asked.

“The best thing about organized crime is that it's organized.” Harley said. She grinned. “I didn't come up with that myself. I ripped it from a movie I saw.”

Ivy put her head in her hands.

“Right.” Bruce said. “So I'll take that as a yes, then.”

“No.” Ivy said, pointedly. “We aren't telling you anything.”

“Awww, come on, Pammy. It's Batman! Kitty's main squeeze, yanno? We gotta be chummy.  
Let's just tell 'im.”

Ivy looked scandalised. “Harley, he's going to lock us up. He is not our chum.”

“I'm not going to arrest the two of you.” Bruce said, “As much as I want to.”

“Why?” Harley said, mystified.

Bruce's jaw worked. “Reasons.” He grit out.

Harley looked at him for a second, confused and then realization struck her eyes. “Oh my gawd, Pammy! Kitty won't let him lock us up!” She said, and started to guffaw like a maniac.

“Not for the next two weeks.” Batman said.  
“Ohh that's right!” Harley said, grinning. “Cause y'all are gettin’ married! So that means we're invited?”

“No.” Bruce said.

“Aw.” Harley said, pouting. “Even if I promise I won't tell no one your secret identity or nothing?”

“Even then.”

“Is it cause you're worried we'll wreck everything and kill a few people?” Harley asked, brightly.

“Yes.” Bruce said.

“Is it cause I stabbed you, just now?”

Bruce looked at her. “Yes.” He said.  
“I guess that's kinda understandable, ain't it Pammy? We do do bad stuff sometimes.”  
“I suppose,” Ivy said, warily.  
A short, awkward pause.

“Look.” Said Batman. “I don't like the East end gangs. No one likes them. I don't like  
Cobblepot either. I'm happy to see him go. But you need to stop sending poisonous flowers to people's doorsteps. Their wives or children could open the packages. Lay low for a while. Don't let the GCPD find you. And stop dancing in unlocked rooms. It was remarkably easy to find you.”

“It would be remarkably easy to kill you,” Ivy spat out, at the same time that Harley said, “Wait, so you're just gonna let us go?”

Bruce hesitated. He hoped he wasn't making a mistake. “For two weeks. Keep the gangs away.  
It would be. . . refreshing to have some new leadership in this part of the town, anyway.”

“Pam didja hear? He ain't gonna lock us up!” Harley squealed. “Mistah Batman, you totally rock.”

Ivy cleared her throat. “Yes.” She said, warily. “Thank you.”

Batman gave them a curt nod. He turned to leave. “Get out of here before sunrise and call the cops on Penguin. They've been looking for him for that court date for a while, now.”

“Oh hey! You're leavin’ already?” Harley called out.

Bruce paused before the doors.

“Harley.” Ivy said, warningly.

“Oh, c’mon! The man's gettin’ married. Let's at least pour him a drink, Pammy. A gesture of good faith, eh?”

Ivy’s sigh was monumental.

“Thank you for the offer, but I have work.” Bruce said.

“Oh that's right! You can't drink on the job. My bad! I'll pour ya some lemonade instead. Take a seat! Unwind, man. Ya look like ya don't get enough vacations.” She said, skipping over to the bar.

Bruce looked at Ivy.

“You better do what she says.” She said. “That wound on your side is a flesh wound, and you've  
got it wrapped up pretty good. You're not bleeding out anytime soon. I think.”

Bruce sat down at the bar. Harley switched the music back on.

“Hell yeah!” She yelled over the music, going over to Bruce's side of the long bar table and handing him the glass of Lemon sour. Bruce took it warily.

Harley sat down opposite him, a bright smile on her face. “Hey bats, you had a bachelor party yet? Maybe we can have a few drinks and kick back, huh? Party a little? You seem like a cool enough guy if Kitty's steppin’ out with ya.”

“No.” Bruce said, standing up abruptly. “No bachelor parties.”

Ivy raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Harley stared. “What's the matter? Did ya accidentally kill a stripper in the last one or somethin’?” She said, laughing to herself. “Sorry. Ripped that from a movie too.”

“I have to leave.” Bruce said.

“Already?” Harley pouted. “But ya didn't even finish your lemonade! Drink it, it's good for your gums. Vitamin C and all.”

Bruce looked at his glass of Lemon sour. “This is a mixer. It doesn't contain any nutrient value.”

Harley narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh have you got 4 PhDs too, like me? Or are you just sayin’  
stuff outta your ass? And you ain't leavin’ anytime soon. Sit down.”

Bruce sighed, and sat down.

Harley instantly brightened again. “Great! I'll go put my playlist on. And then we can dance, right?”

“I am not dancing.” Bruce said.

“Sure ya are!” Harley said, going over to the other side of the bar. “Pammy ya want a drink? I feel like a margarita. Ya feel like a margarita?”

“No, thank you.” Ivy said. She sat down next to Bruce at the bar. “Look,” she whispered to him, her voice low. “She's already pretty drunk. She's going to pass out about three drinks in, okay? You can leave then.”

Bruce looked at her. He wasn't sure why she was telling him this. “Thank you.” He said anyway.

“What you're doing,” she continued in a low voice, “I appreciate it.” Ivy jerked her head towards  
Harley. “She doesn't see much outside a prison cell anymore. It's nice to have a break.”

“Don't thank me yet.” Bruce said. “I'm going to be back in two weeks.”

Ivy smiled. In the bar, Harley had excavated some ancient bottle of Vodka, and gave a joyous whoop. Ivy looked over at her fondly.

“If you can even find us in two weeks’ time, that is.” She said.

 

*

 

He had retreated into his study, going through the last few emails Lucius had sent him. The study was the only place that hadn't been turned into a flower-laden, candle-lit extravaganza. The wedding planners and decorators and designers had been running around the manor the whole week, and it was particularly bad today.

It wasn't that he was hiding. It was a. . . strategic retreat.

Every time he saw her, the wedding planner asked him to anxiously try on his suit one more time just to see if it would fit just right tomorrow, or take him through the floor plan again, or ask him some inane question about something involving satin table runners and ice sculptures and whatnot.

Hence, the strategic retreat.

Someone knocked on his door. He looked up.  
The door opened. It was Dick.

“What's wrong,” Bruce said.

“Why does something have to be wrong all the time?” Dick said, grinning as he walked in. He leaned against Bruce's table. “Maybe I just wanted to see my old man.”

“Hrn,” Bruce said. He was unconvinced.

“And, you know, maybe I felt bad that when we first heard about your engagement we were all too shocked to congratulate you. Or properly celebrate.” Dick said, casually.

Bruce frowns. “Celebrate.” He said. “I don't like where this is going.”

“Anyway,” Dick continued lightly, “I just wanted to say, congratulations.”

“Thank. . . you.” Bruce said. “Is that all?”

“Oh, no.” Dick grinned. “We're throwing you a party. Get up, we're going to Verve. Everyone's already in the car.”

“What do you mean, everyone?” Bruce said, alarmed.  
“Oh you know. Me, Jay, Tim. Cass, and Steph. We'll see if we can sneak Damian in through the bathroom window or something.”

Bruce stared at him disbelievingly.

“I'm getting married in eleven hours. You want to ‘celebrate’ now?”

“Better late than never.” Dick said. “Get up!”

“This is an ambush.” Bruce said slowly coming to a realization. He got up.

Dick grinned. “And I got selected as most likely to not get yelled out of the room when I broke it to you. So far so good.”

“What do I tell Alfred? Selina? That wedding planner’s blood pressure will skyrocket if I leave the premises.”

“Don't worry, they all know. We've been planning this for–”

“Days?” Bruce said.

Dick checked his wristwatch, “More like forty minutes, now.” He grinned. “It's the thought that counts, right?”

Bruce sighed. “I'm not drinking the night before my wedding.”

Dick just laughed “Oh boy. Don't worry, B. You're the designated driver. We all remember what happened the last time you got drunk, don't we?”  
Bruce sighed again.

 

At Verve, everyone was having a good time except for him. Cass and Tim were trying to put as many straws in a glass as they could, giggling and laughing every time they pushed another one in. So far, the number was eighty four. Damian was wearing his hoodie, his face covered, hunched next to Dick and out of the line of vision of the waiters, who'd try to card him if they saw him. He was on his phone, texting someone. Both he and Bruce were having an orange juice.

Steph and Jason were having a spirited conversation about some show they'd been watching.

“I'm telling you, the chick dies in the end! There's a gunshot and then a cut to black. It's so obvious.”

“They're subverting the genre, you idiot. We didn't see him pull the trigger. Hey, can you sit in front of me a little? Those creepy dudes from the bar keep staring at me.”

“What creepy dudes? Where?”

“They're over there by the– never mind, they saw us looking. What were we talking about? Right. Besides, if she dies, what will they do in season two, huh?”

“Oh, come on. You know that she’s not the primary protagonist.”

“Yeah, but she's the show's main source of conflict!”

“You're being naive and–”

Dick cleared his throat loudly. Silence fell over the table.

“A toast,” he said brightly, “to Bruce, and to his last day on earth as an emo loser.”  
“That seems a little unfair.” Bruce said, even as everyone laughed and clinked their glasses together.

“Face it, B.” Steph said. “Your whole lone wolf thing was getting old.”

“It was not a thing.”

“It so was.”

“I don't understand how–”

“Right.” Dick said, pointedly. “Darts! Who's up for darts? Loser has to buy a round.”

“All of your allowances come from me. Which means I have to buy the round.”

Jason grinned. “Better cut to the chase then, B.” He said, and Dick smacked the back of his head.

“I have my own money.” Dick said. “Because I work for a living. Unlike someone.”

“I work for a living too,” Jason said, defensively. “I keep Gotham safe.”

“Bullshit you keep Gotham safe. All you did last week was play video games in your boxers. I saw you.” Steph said.

“That's because I was sick!”

“You had a teensy headache on Monday but what about the rest of the w–”

“Fine. Just go play darts.” Bruce said. rubbing at his temples. “I'll buy you all another round. I don't even care anymore.”

Dick beamed. “Great.” He said, “Timbo, bet you can't beat the undefeated champion.”

“You're on,” Tim said, getting up.

After they all go off to the other side of the bar to play, Cass scooted over to Bruce.

“You aren't playing?” He asked her.

Cass shook her head. “I would win too easily.” She said, smiling.

He smiled back. “Don't underestimate Dick. He is the undefeated champion, after all.” He said, nudging her side.  
She giggled.

Bruce ordered another round of drinks from a passing waiter, and when he was gone, she motioned for him to bend down slightly so she could say something into his ear. He did.

“I'm wearing my prom dress.” Cass whispered. “To your marriage.”  
“Wedding.” Bruce corrected.

“Wedding.” Cass said.

“We could go and get you a new dress, Cass.” Bruce said.

Cass shook her head, grinning. “I like it.”

“Okay.” Bruce said.

“It's gold in colour.” Cass said, saying gold slowly, like she was trying the word on for size. “Not yellow. Steph taught me about Gold.”

“It's very pretty.” Bruce agreed.

Cass smiled up at him again, sidling closer until their shoulders were touching.

“Selina bought it for me.”

“I know,” Bruce said.

“She's nice.” Cass said, putting her head on his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

They heard a loud whoop from the other side of the bar, where the dartboard was. Dick was clearly winning, judging by the look on his face. Cass laughed.

Their drinks came. Bruce was asking them to add it to their tab when Cass stood up with a start.

“What's wrong?” Bruce said.

Cass was staring at something happening over at the other side of the bar. Where the rest of them were. A man who'd been standing over by the bar had broken away from his group of friends and gone towards the dartboard, and was saying something to Steph.

At first it seemed polite enough, but quickly Steph started to frown and shake her head. And then her face contorted to an expression of rage so intense that the man stepped back a bit.

Bruce realized she still had a dart in her hands.

“Oh shit,” he heard Tim say.

Three seconds later the man was screaming. Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn it.

“You fucking bitch! You stabbed me!” the man was yelling incredulously. “On the arm, with your fucking dart! What, I can't even ask you out on a date?”

“It's a flesh wound, get over it you big baby!” Steph yelled back. “And call me bitch again, just try, motherfucker!”

From the corner of his eye, Bruce could see the rest of his friends getting up.

“Bad.” Cass said. “Very bad.”

Dick was laughing nervously. “Okay, fellas, if we could just talk this out.” Everybody ignored him.

“And by the way, you didn't just ask me out, you little shit. You totally groped me and everything!” Steph was yelling. “Do you know who my dad is? He's Bruce Wayne and he's totally gonna fuck you up!”

Bruce looked at Cass. Cass shrugged.

He didn't know whether to feel pleased or alarmed.

“You're lying. That's a lie, and– goddamn it I'm bleeding out, here!” The man yelled back.

“It's not even a pinprick! The dart barely even touched you, you weak-ass motherfucker.” Steph said, and the man suddenly moved towards her, and Bruce felt himself tense up.

In the end, it was not Steph who threw the first punch.

It was Damian.

“No one calls Brown a bitch except for me!” He yelled, and launched himself towards the man.

The man, understandably surprised to see a small, angry projectile barrelling towards him, froze up.

Bruce heard a sharp cracking sound, and sighed again.

“My nose!” The man yelled and his friends starting moving over threateningly towards Damian.

“Hey!” Dick said sharply. “Leave my brother alone. He's just a kid.” Someone punched Dick in the face.

“What the fuck?” Jason said, “He didn't even do anything!”

“I'm fine–” Dick started to say, but Jason had already launched himself at the offender in question, and now they were in the middle of a full on bar brawl.

Cass looked over to Bruce.

“Fine.” Bruce sighed. “Fine.” He said, and she smiled and ran off in their direction.

He started to roll up his sleeves.

He hated bachelor parties so goddamn much.

 

*

“What do you mean you're in lockup?” Selina said over the phone, her voice high.  
Bruce looked over at his kids in the holding cell, all hosting various types of cuts and scratches.  
Dick had a black eye. He smiled at Bruce weakly.

“We got into a bit of a– altercation.” Bruce said into the landline of the GCPD's precinct. He'd been allowed one call. “We need you to come and post bail.”

“I can't believe you got into a bar fight at two in the morning. And now you're all in prison. The night before your wedding. What the fuck kind of a family am I marrying into?” Selina said.

“I know how this sounds.” Bruce said. “But things. . . escalated.” A small pause. “And Damian's not in lockup. He's a minor, so they made him sit inside the Commissioner’s office until they could figure out what to do with him.”

“I don't envy the commissioner.” Selina said. Her voice was sharp.

“Selina–”

“Alright.” She huffed. “I'm coming. But only because it's the day before your wedding and you need to be there on time. In any other scenario, I would have left you there to rot for a day or two. Just so you could learn your lesson.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said. He turned slightly so that he was facing away from the lockup cells. “I love you.” He said quietly into the phone.

Selina sighed. “Yeah. I love you too. God knows why. I'll be there in ten.”

“Oh,” Bruce said, remembering. “And I managed to get those pulled pork sliders from Verve before we got thrown out. The ones you like.”

“I'll be there in five.” Selina said, her tone no less grumpy.

 

*

They’re sitting at Batburger, now.

It’s five in the morning. His wedding is in six hours and none of them have had any sleep. All of them are nursing either injuries or hangovers. The servers look like they just want to go home.  
Selina’s looking at all of them with incredulous disbelief.

All in all, everyone is in a pretty celebratory mood.

“I love these fries, holy shit.” Steph is saying, going to town on Jason's jokerized fries. When she sees Bruce looking at her, she wipes her mouth and says, “Hey, so you know when I called you my dad at the bar? It was just that I wanted to scare that guy, and saying 'my ex boyfriend’s stepfather’ just wouldn't have the same effect. You know what I mean?”

“Yes I–” he pauses. “Would you like some more fries?” He says. They have already disappeared from her tray.

“Oh shoot, yes please. We didn't actually get around to eating dinner, and I'm so hungry.”

“Anyone else want anything?” Bruce says, getting up.

“I would like a coca cola, Father. And Cassandra wants the Kale-El smoothie.” Damian says. His hoodie is slightly torn. He's grinning like he just returned from glorious victory in battle. “And please bring some more tissues for Cassandra.”

“Her arm's bleeding again?” Someone had also stabbed her shallowly with a dart. They had gone to Leslie's clinic after Selina had picked them up from the GCPD. The expression on Leslie's face had conveyed it all.

“No, I am making a corsage to go along with her dress.” Damian says proudly. Cass nods.

Bruce blinks. “Alright. Anyone else?”

“Get me a Dr. Freeze, please.” Tim says. “The green one.”

Bruce glances at the menu card warily. It appears to be some sort of neon green . . . slushie.

“That doesn't look very healthy.” he says.

“It's fast food, B. I'm here for a good time. Not a long time.” Tim says.

Selina looks at Tim, impressed. She's eating the sliders that Bruce had got for her; the servers were too tired to tell her not to eat food from outside establishments in here.

“You're old enough to know who George Strait is?” Selina says.

Tim looks blank. “George who? That's from a Drake song.”

“Who's Drake?” Selina asks.

Tim's eyes widen. “Bruce, you gotta cancel this wedding.”

Bruce ignores him. “Dick? You want anything?”

Dick is looking at himself in Stephanie's compact mirror sadly. “Think concealer can cover this up for the wedding, Steph?” He asks, referring to his black eye.

“Sure.” Steph says. “I'm not sure what your shade is though. Are you more red toned or yellow toned? I'm more yellow toned, and you look like you might be too, but it could also just be the light. I can do a few swatches to check, but we'll have to use some–”

“Dick,” Bruce says. “food?”

“Yeah, I'll uh, have a Harley Quiche, I think. No cheese though. I'm trying to watch my weight.”  
Bruce goes to get their orders.

Fifteen minutes later, everyone is a little more full and less grumpy. Except Selina.

“You know, at least this’ll be a fun story to tell during parties.” Tim says to her. Selina looks unconvinced.

“I'm getting married in six hours and I have dark circles.” She says. “This is worse than the time Bruce puked in a bush.”

“I didn’t actually puke in a bush. You just made that up,” Bruce points out.

Selina ignores him, “I think I might be going gray.”

“Welcome to the family.” Bruce says.

“Does Alfred know about any of this, by the way?” Tim says.

“No one is telling Alfred anything. He only just started talking to me again.” Bruce says.

“Will you pay us to stay quiet?” Jason says.

“No.” Bruce says.

Jason shrugs, and goes back to devouring his fries with Steph. “Worth a shot.” He says to her.

The sun is coming up. Bruce can hear the birds outside.

“I better get back home before the wedding planner realises I'm gone and goes into cardiac arrest.” Selina says. But she makes no move to get up. Instead, she puts her hand in his. Just enough to curl their pinkies together. Under the table though, so none of the kids can see and make fun of her.

He looks at her. She smiles.

Opposite them, Damian has crafted some kind of DIY flower origami corsage and brandishes it in front of Cass. Cass is smiling so hard it looked like she might hug Damian, which she does. Damian goes pink.

Tim slurps some of his green drink noisily through the straw. “This is kind of nice, isn't it?”

“What?”

“This. All of us hanging out. It's nice.”

“It's definitely better than having to spend a night in jail.” Jason says. “Been there, done that. Not a fan.”

“What?” Bruce says, sharply.

“Nothing. I was kidding.” Jason says, all too fast. “It is nice. Family. Togetherness. Wow.”  
Tim rolls his eyes. “Idiot.”  
“Jerk.” Jason says and then turns to Bruce. “Hey, so would you say this was your best bachelor party yet?”

“Last night?” Bruce asks, his eyebrows raised. “It was the worst one yet.”

“No, I mean right now. 5 in the morning at Batburger.”

“Technically, the only rule for a bachelor party is that your fiancée shouldn't be there. And you should have drinks.” Dick points out from the other end of the table, where Stephanie is slathering concealer onto his face in vain.

“That can be solved easily enough.” Jason says, taking a small flask out of his pocket.

“You had this all along?” Steph says, her voice high, “And you didn't share?” 

Jason grins, and empties out the contents of the flask into Tim's Dr. Freeze.

“Hey!” Tim says.

“Shut it, replacement.” Jason says, and slides it over to Bruce. “There you go. Problem solved.  
And we can ask Selina to step out for a couple of minutes.”

“Gladly.” Selina says, looking at all of them like they're crazy. Which isn't that far off the mark.

Bruce takes a sip of the Dr. Freeze. Everyone watches. It tastes sickly sweet, like mint and cheap vodka.  
How the hell did he end up sitting in a shitty diner, bruised and tired, drinking vodka slushies at five in the morning, on the day of his wedding?

“Well?” Tim says.

“This is the best bachelor party I've had.” Bruce declares, holding up the plastic cup. “But the bar is incredibly low.”

Everyone cheers anyway. Bruce smiles.

He looks around the table. Stephanie and Jason are fighting over the rest of the Dr. Freeze, Dick is looking at himself in the mirror concernedly, and Cass is modelling the corsage off to Damian.  
Tim is trying to educate Selina about Drake's discography (in vain). Her hand is still curled in his.  
He loves all these people, he thinks. He loves them, and there's nowhere else he'd rather be.

Tim's phone beeps, and he checks it. His eyes brighten. “Bruce, the Stayin’ Alive video hit two million views. This is like, the best day of my life.”

Bruce sighs. Or maybe not.

**Author's Note:**

> While I was trying to come up with a name for this fic, Officialloislane suggested that I call it 'Bat-chelor party' and in reply I immediately hurled myself out of the window of my apartment.  
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
